Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Belize and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Theoretical Girls to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Bauhaus. All the underground hits.
All Scientists tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lafayette Afro Rock Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Men They Couldn't Hang record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Organ,
Sex Pistols,
The Last Poets,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Outsiders,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Mr. Review,
Arab on Radar,
Blossom Toes,
Roxy Music,
Von Mondo,
Lee Hazlewood,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Robert Wyatt,
The Moleskins,
Harmonia,
Magazine,
Average White Band,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Bizarre Inc.,
Terrestrial Tones,
Archie Shepp,
Rekid,
The Dirtbombs,
The Golliwogs,
Procol Harum,
The Cure,
The Martian,
Bush Tetras,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Hashim,
Marc Almond,
The Shadows of Knight,
This Heat,
Quando Quango,
Black Bananas,
Black Pus,
Ponytail,
Lakeside,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Jeru the Damaja,
The American Breed,
The Wake,
Loose Ends,
Can,
Urselle,
The Velvet Underground,
Ralphi Rosario,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Selecter,
Jesper Dahlback,
EPMD,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Scott Walker,
The Buckinghams,
PIL,
Tres Demented,
Index,
Tom Boy,
Wally Richardson,
Jacques Brel,
Das Ding, Das Ding, Das Ding, Das Ding.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.